A Masterpiece
by Fithrandubard
Summary: This is just a small story about Lawson and Blake.


Sorry for my English (and French). I know, I have written some strange sentences, but that's just fun, I guess :-D

 **A Masterpiece**

"Matthew! I know everything about paintings!" Lawson was looking just a little scared, when Blake took some brushes and other weapons used by painters up from a bag. Like paint. In different colours…

"Are you sure, Blake?" Lawson leaned back," I didn't know you could paint? Is that something they teach doctors in Scotland?"

"No," Blake smiled and stopped the unpacking," my mother was a painter."

"Really?" It did not really surprise Lawson. He had known Lucien for many years and had always wondered where that… eccentric trait came from. Not from his father for sure! Dr Thomas Blake was a simple and decent man. He did not eat all the evidence or drank all that whiskey. And he did not dig up graves or rang you in the middle of night, because he had found a new clue to the investigation. No… Dr Thomas Blake was a normal doctor. Dr Lucien Blake… Uh! He took after his mother. Which was quite… un-good, Lawson thought, when he treated living patients… But he had never been one of the patients of Dr Lucien Blake, so how could he tell if his speculations were true?

"Do you want me to just sit here?" Lawson did not know what to do. Blake looked so… engaged in what he was doing. He had placed a large and advanced linen on an even more advanced easel. Moreover, he did not say anything to Lawson. He just adjusted his gear and glanced at him from time to time, as if he was not a human, but rather a bowl of fruit or a vase.

"Yes…" he let the word stay in the air for a long time and with a tone of considering like always, before drawing the curtains aside, forcing the shadows in the room to hide, so he could see his white surface with the plans of being making into a painting. Even though Lawson doubted it would be beautiful…

"Don't you think it would be good with all that natural light from the window?" Blake looked out.

"I don't know. You're the painter," Lawson placed himself in a position of impatience. Blake did not seem to notice.

"Ah! The sun is orange today," he took a deep breath," ah! Yes…" And turned around. "Hm… I think we should place the couch a little different. So the light will catch your eyes and will cast some beautifully dark shadows around you. Yes…" And he rushed over and began to push the couch and the other furniture a little to the left, so they were closer to the window and the sunlight. Of course Lawson got up and helped, even though he did not see these 'beautifully dark shadows' or understood why he needed light in his eyes…

"Right, right," Blake went back and tried to imagine the finished result. It would be truly magnificent! If Lawson had his hat on. Yes… And was sitting a bit more… relaxed.

"You need to have your hat on," Blake made a sign with his hand," and be more relaxed."

"Why do I need my hat?" Lawson took the hat from the table and placed it on his head," does it make good shadows?"

"Yes, and makes you look more proud and… professional," the doctor smiled, even though Lawson was a bit offended.

"You don't think I look professional without my hat?" Lawson asked with furious eyes.

"I think you do," Blake smiled again," I wouldn't paint you like this, if you didn't satisfy my wish to capture the soul of a just creature. You look perfect as you are. The hat is just for, you know… for rightness. You are a police officer, and they have hats on. People need to see that you are copper."

"'The soul of a just creature?' I am no creature, Blake." Lawson pointed out.

"I think all animals are creatures," Blake corrected.

"I am no animal, Blake," Lawson smalled his eyes. He did not like that tone.

"I am an animal too, if that helps," Blake laughed shortly, before he asked," could you be relaxed?"

"No," Lawson answered truthful.

"Why?" the doctor did not understand.

"I can't be relaxed, when you want to show that painting to everyone! I thought it would be our secret…"

"Yes, but of course! But, Lawson, think! Maybe in the future someone will see it. You know after a hundred years or more. When we are both dead and buried. And then all the aliens and our great-great-grandchildren need to understand this masterpiece."

"You haven't even painted it yet. How can you tell it will be a masterpiece?"

"I'm an artist, Matthew. I can just… see it."

"Like you see murders, when you are playing with your false pistol-hands and your other strange stunts?"

"Yes, just like that!" Blake's face became one big smile, but only for a short time. He then began to paint.

"Am I calm enough now?" Lawson looked at his painter.

"Perfect," Blake mixed some colours from the colour-tubes, sticking his tongue out as to get a deeper concentration.

"I think your great-great-grandchildren would be even gladder for a painting of you right now," the police officer smiled.

"Don't smile too much," Blake warned," or you will look like a sweet grandfather in a police costume."

"Blake," now it was Lawson to warn," if you don't stop teasing me, I think, you need to paint from your memory."

"Ah, Lawson," he smiled again," I do not tease. And if you don't tease me, then I will only tease you, when I am finished with this piece of art. Just be relaxed and think of… things you like. Like cricket!"

"Or you in a prison cell," he thought and smiled again, until he remembered the warning and then became cold and frightening in his appearance. Like a real boss!

Some minutes passed and Lawson was a little bored. He had looked around in the room and had even thought about cricket as Blake had recommended. But even though Superintendent Matthew Lawson was known for his patience around the troublesome Blake, he began to drum his fingers and even groan a bit for Blake to hurry. But he did not notice, and Lawson needed to find another way of passing these hours of waiting, and the solution ended up being to watch his concentrated painter.

First, he just saw Blake as he always did. Yes, with his tongue a little out as described earlier, but nothing else that were striking different. However, after a minute something struck him. The light from the window was truly orange. Moreover, it did not only touch himself and the linen, but also the character of Blake. It made his right side nearly black and the other half a shining, warm orange. Lawson had never really thought about Blake's hair colour. It could technically be blonde or brown or just grey. However, in this light… Hm… he had red hair now, and Lawson was pretty sure he wasn't a redhead in real life. Was he? No… He was some kind of… greyish blonde? Lawson looked closely again and noticed that his hair shined. It could mean that there was some red in it or just goldish blonde?

"Was your mother a redhead?" Lawson asked not on purpose. It was really just a thought.

"No…" it looked like he needed to think a bit," no… She was dark-haired. Why?"

"Ah, no reason," Lawson lied.

"If you really want her to be red-haired, I think she might had have a reddish gleam. But more like a dark red. Bordeaux."

"Your mother had Bordeaux hair?" this made Lawson's eyes big.

"No, no! I was just thinking. She didn't have red hair as far as I remember. Just… you know, what I mean."

"I'm not sure about that…" Lawson blinked and looked at Blake again. Yes… His hair really looked red… And his eyes shined bright. Like snake eyes! No… That sounded frightening! They looked like… eyes in a film. Like something that you only see on art. Now Lawson suddenly understood a little bit about that light Blake had talked so much about. It made things… magically real in an unreal manner. Like it was too sharp an observation of the reality.

"My mother's favourite wine was Bordeaux," Blake took some more paint on the brush and with a fineness, Lawson did not know, he had, he stroke the linen with the hairs and painted something, Lawson could not see.

"A strange choice… I've always thought it was…"

"Bitter?"

"Yes…"

"Like all wine?"

"Probably. I don't know as much about wine as you seem to do. Did your mother paint a lot of Bordeaux wine?"

"No, I don't think she did," Blake stopped in the middle of the painting process as to appraise the current work of art. He looked satisfied, rubbed his hands and let them fly further around in excitement.

"You're finished?" Lawson asked happily surprised.

"No, no, on the contrary! It need to dry so I don't mix the colours. I still need A LOT MORE work. However, right now I'm a bit hungry."

"I'm hungry too…" Lawson got up and groaned. It was hard to sit on that couch for so many hours (he had not sit there for many, but they were very boring hours!) and his back and arse were a bit sore. He could nearly not feel the hunger in his stomach because of that soreness!

"Let's go to the kitchen then," Blake laughed," unless you want me to fetch you some food you can eat here?"

"No, I will follow," Lawson stretched his back and went after Doctor Blake, who was already out of the room and nearly in the kitchen, where he began to look in the cabinets for edible stuff.

"What do you want?" he asked Lawson.

"What do you have?" he asked back.

"I don't know. Boiled insects?" Blake took a glass out and looked at the label," yes… They are boiled."

"I don't need boiled insects," Lawson assured," do you have a sandwich?"

"I can make one for you?" Blake nodded.

"Eh… No, thank you. I will just go with an apple then."

"A pity. I make some good kangaroo sandwiches." Blake took a green apple from a basket on the table and threw it after Lawson, who did nearly not catch it.

"Sorry, I thought you were ready," he teased and took a red one himself," I don't think we will be satisfied by one apple alone."

"Maybe I will," Lawson corrected. Not because it was true, but he did not want to eat something Blake had made. You know, he had to have a housekeeper for a reason…

Sqwosh! Lawson looked at Blake, who had taken a big bite of his apple (not Lawson's but his own) and was leaning on the table, while he was thinking. Lawson could not tell what it was about, maybe a case? Or the painting? No matter what, he looked young and old at the same time in this light and moment. His face was not sad, just thoughtful, but he had paint on his hands and even on the cheek, which did not seem to suit his formal Doctor outfit. He looked like a grown man, who had went back to childhood, but not entirely. He could still philosophize.

Once in a sudden Blake looked Lawson in the eyes:" Shan't you eat?"

"Oh, yes," Lawson blushed," I just thought about why you would have boiled insects in your kitchen cabinet?"

"Oh, Matthew," again he laughed," it's colouring insects. We don't eat them as snacks."

"You make paint out of them?" Lawson asked curiously.

"No, Jean uses it for cakes. You know, the icing."

"I don't want to eat her cakes anymore," the police officer thought, before asking," and the kangaroo meat you have in your sandwiches?"

"That we use to eat. Why?"

"I have never tasted kangaroo… That's aboriginal-food!" Lawson shuddered.

"I think it tastes good…" Blake shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, but you can eat anything. No, you eat _everything_!"

"I have not eaten you," Blake pointed out.

"No…" Lawson glanced a bit astonished at Blake," if you ate me, you would go to prison."

"Yes…" Blake was again thoughtful," but sometimes I eat stuff, I think you would send me to prison for."

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, nothing. Eat your apple. I have nearly finished mine."

"Hm… I would actually want to know something about all that illegal stuff you're doing. Want to tell me about it?" Lawson took a bite from his sour apple, but only made a tiny grimace in defence.

"This is no date, Matthew."

"No!" the police officer nearly screamed (in a very manly manner). Why did Blake even say that? He did not want to date Blake! Blake was a… a man! And he did not find him attractive! He did not find any man attractive. Only women, and Blake did not look like one of them! "Why did you say that!?"

"Ah, ah, don't be too surprised," Blake nearly giggled," it was a joke."

"I don't like your jokes…" Lawson thought bitterly by himself and still a bit nervous.

"You know… You ask your dates about their lives and stuff?"

"No…"

"You don't ask your date about that?"

"No…"

"Really?"

"Stop asking me about my dates!" Lawson found the trashcan and threw out the apple core with red cheeks.

"I didn't want to," Blake promised," you started…"

"And now I'm finishing it."

"Oh…" Blake seemed a bit downhearted and threw his apple core beside Lawson's. A silence took over the room and the only thing to hear was a repeating, monotonous bird outside somewhere. It gave Lawson a guilty conscience.

However, he had no reason to feel guilty. Blake understood Lawson. If he did not want to talk about his former dates, he would not ask (unless it had something to do with a murder). He himself did not want to talk too much about his wife either…

"Are you thirsty?" he suddenly asked.

"A bit," Lawson admitted.

"Tea or just water?"

"Tea."

"Do you want to drink it, while I paint? I mean the painting must be dry now." Blake found some cups and began to boil some water.

"If I'm allowed to drink, without you screwing up the painting, yes. It's a bit boring to just sit still."

"Yes… You can drink while I paint, without any damage." And after only a small amount of time, the tea was done, and they decorated it with sugar cubes and milk, before leaving the kitchen and enter the art room.

"Is nobody else home?" Lawson asked a bit surprised.

"Nope. Mattie studies, Charlie is home to visit his family, and I sent Jean away, so she could have some fun in town, while we were alone. I think she is eating dinner with some friends."

"Hm…" Lawson liked it like that. He did not want Senior Constable Charlie Davis to suddenly enter the room and see this… strange scene. He would not ask many questions, but the look in his eyes would bring enough shame… What he did with Blake in his free time was none of the other police officers business! He did not do anything too strange… It was just… They did not seem to understand Blake as he did. And all this painting stuff was Blake's idea and his ideas used to be good. And it was quite fun to watch Blake's behaviour… in safe environments.

"Yes…" the Doctor said and let his fingers touch the paint on the painting very carefully, like he stroke a baby animal," can you sit in the sofa again? At the same spot."

"Of course," Lawson placed his cup of tea on the table and adjusted his hat so the shadows should fall just as Blake wanted them. Then he looked his painter in the eyes and asked:" Is this the spot?"

"Yes, yes…" Blake assured," you're perfect."

"You know that sounded strange, right?" Lawson pointed out with a smile only he was capable of making. Without being a real smile, but more like a nod with his head, that meant what he said was a tease.

"Yes…" Blake answered," I say 'yes' way to much…"

"No… Not that. Ah, forget about it," Lawson sighed," but you really are fond of that word."

"Yes…" Blake smiled," it's better than 'no'."

"I wouldn't be without it," Lawson corrected. If he could not say 'no', when somebody did something wrong, how could he then be a police officer? And if some asked him to do something stupid or just something he did not want to, how could he then be free? He would be forced to say 'yes' all the time and he could not say 'yes' as Blake did. He could make 'yes' mean hundreds of different words in one. Like 'not really', 'maybe', 'but' and even some kind of 'no'. Maybe he only needed that one word to speak? All the rest was just for show. Because he was a doctor, and doctors are clever and need to sound sophisticated. And you can only sound sophisticated, if you use all that Greek words and stuff… And use more than one single word…

Some time passed again and Lawson's tea was either dranked or a little cold, because he had needed to sit still, when Blake painted his face. Blake himself had not drunk a single drop of tea, so focused he was on the painting. Lawson had a feeling that this often happened for him. He was a bit absent-minded and often forgot about his own needs. Lawson was not a doctor, but he was pretty sure he could give Blake some healthy advice about how he could make his life more safe and sound. Like these advices:

One: To stop drinking that huge amount of whiskey and other alcoholic fluids.

Two: To start eating food regularly. Both in the morning, for lunch and dinner. And not just drink a cup of whiskey or tea, but eating a real meal. (this counsel was actually quite funny, because Blake really liked food. He ate many things at work, but just not a meal… Many times, he had eaten one of Lawson's sandwiches or his apple, if he looked away for just a moment… Maybe his hunger was satisfied by that? Eating small portions of things through the day? Probably, but that did not sound healthy either… To steal others' food and live on that… Why did he even steal it? He had a housekeeper, who made food for him every day. Did Jean not cook well? Lawson thought she did… So what was Blake's excuse?)

Three: To sleep at night instead of making a mess out of a police investigation.

Four: To stop placing himself in life-threatening situations, because he would sure live longer, if he did not talk with mad and crazy murderers with guns or knives in their hands and did not eat rat poison.

Five: To stop pissing people off! Especially Patrick Tyneman. And Munro. And the police in Melbourne. And the one in Ballarat. No, really just all the citizens in Ballarat and guests in the town. Like that British Consul General, Sir Richard Lambeth. Uh… He was very lucky he had hit Lawson. If it had been the Consul! Oh, then he would have had a lot tougher punishment than a night in a cell. It was only, because Lawson liked hi… eh… because Lawson found him so useful in the investigations that he had not sacked him. Yes.

Six: To stop fighting (both with civilians, criminals and Bill Hobart).

Seven: Stop peeping around in other persons' houses.

And many more smaller counsels and advices. If I should list them all, then this story would be way too long to write.

"Blake?" Lawson asked.

"Yes, Matthew?" the Doctor looked up from his work.

"Shan't you drink your tea?"

"Ah, it's probably cold now. I will make a new one later," he smiled," are you finished?"

"Nearly."

"And you are more thirsty?"

"No… I'm just a little restless. Is it going good with the painting?"

"Yes… I think it will be finished before the darkness will swallow the light."

"I hope so. I can't wait all day, you know," Lawson smiled with seriousness," I need to get home."

"Why? Do you have something to do?" Blake sounded astonished.

"No… I just want to… use my weekend on other things than this." He shrugged his shoulders.

"You can eat with me, if you want to? It will be very lonesome, when everyone else is out. And Jean has made some food in the fridge. We only need to reheat it."

Lawson became quiet for some time. He did not know if he wanted to eat dinner with Blake. He really had no reason to get home and eat alone. But maybe it was better to be lonely than dine with him? Blake looked so… innocent in this darkening light. He again appeared to be a child at heart and children do not understand a 'no'. But Blake was not a child. He was very much a grown man, Lawson knew that very well. He could look at dead bodies, talk with them, and cut them open without even a slight grimace. Only very psychopathic children could do such things. And even only adult humans without normal feelings…

Lawson did not normally think of Blake as 'not human'. But he was not very human after all. Maybe he was an alien from a different planet? A planet, where everyone were just like him? Perhaps they did not need to eat as much as humans did? Maybe they did not need to sleep? And maybe they did not see dead bodies as frightening as humans did? This could explain a lot about Blake. His strange intelligence, odd behaviour and his lack of understanding for human privacy, among other things. Yes… Maybe he really was an alien?

He looked Blake in the eyes again. They tried to observe. Like he did not understand what was behind Lawson's eyes. Lawson knew he could hide certain feelings for the world, but not always for Blake. Sometimes Blake saw nothing. He did not understand he did something wrong, or did not see people were in a bad mood. Other times he looked through you like you was an open book! Like some kind of… magic creature! But Lawson laughed inside. Magic did not exist. As did not aliens. Blake was just intelligent and strange. An inheritance from his mother.

"Matthew," Blake said with a smile," you don't have to say 'yes'. If you're busy with other stuff, then go home."

"I'm not busy," Lawson corrected with a little red cheeks," I think I could stay. Not the whole night, but…"

"You will stay for dinner?"

"Yes… If you don't make the food inedible. Then I will eat out."

"Yes… Me too," Blake laughed and took the brush away from the painting, where he hit himself with some black colour. It shined in the orange evening light, when he tried to get it off with some paper.

"Shall I help?" Lawson suggested," with some water?"

"No, a painter needs to be painted himself or he has not painted at all."

"Did your mother tell you that or did you read it in a book?"

"None of them. I just made it up right now."

"You truly are very unique." Lawson leaned back.

"Yes… I have never met anyone as me." Blake gave up removing the paint and began to finish the last bit of the portrait.

"And your mother was French, you said?"

" _Oui, mon ami_ ," Blake answered in his best French.

"You're sure?"

" _Oui_ ," he said again," why?"

"I just thought you were half alien. That's all." Lawson shrugged his shoulders in a teasing smile.

"Maybe my father was the alien?" Blake suggested.

"No, I have a feeling that Frenchmen would seem as aliens for us Australians."

"True… I was an alien, when I visited Britain. And the Eastern Asia."

"And when you're back here in Ballarat," Lawson smiled.

"Yes… Here almost more than anywhere else…." Blake smiled too," but this kind of feels like a home."

"It is your home," Lawson pointed out," you will stay, right?"

"Yes, I think so. I have no other place to go."

"Yes…" Lawson nodded and looked down. He did not like the thought of Blake leaving. But why on Earth should he leave Ballarat? He had friends here. People he liked and loved and…

"Ah! _Superb!_ " Blake stepped back and smiled at the painting," _magnifique! Vraiment magnifique!_ "

"Is it completely finished this time?" Lawson asked just as astonished as the other times.

" _Oui, mon cher Matthieu. Terminée!_ "

"I don't understand you, Blake. Speak English!"

"Sorry, Matthew. Yes, it is finished. Not dry yet, but I don't think I need to repaint anything."

"May I see it then?" Lawson asked.

"But of course. Would you mind terrible to go over here?"

"No…" Lawson got up and over beside Blake. Then he looked at the big linen and saw something truly astonishing. He was not sure what to expect. Blake was extremely strange and could surely be capable of painting, but he was a Doctor not an artist… However now… This painting did not look like something a child had made. Or a person like Lawson himself. But it did not look like something a painter would normally make.

The background was a yellowish colour with some kind of white and maybe even orange. Then there was the couch in a more dark plummy red. And then Lawson in his black uniform with his black hat and all these medals in all different colours. But his face was the most special. His eyes looked like they were shining and his mouth like a question or an attitude that was not far from the reality. But everything looked distorted. As if the person who had painted it did not see as other people did. All the shadows were darker than real shadows and all the light more… orange and faded. But still alive. And it was like something was missing. Something important, when you looked the portrait in the face. Something Lawson could not tell. But overall it looked like a real painting.

"You like it?" Blake asked with a hopeful smile.

"Maybe," Lawson just answered. It was truly painted astoundingly well. But he did not know if this style was for his taste. It was… strange… And not as he had expected. "I think I… like it, I guess…"

"You do? Good… Then let us eat and celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"This good day, of course," Blake smiled and took Lawson's hand but then instead curved his arm around his neck in some kind of hug?

"Bloody hell, Blake!" Lawson laughed and his hat fell on the floor.

"Sorry," Blake laughed too," I think we should get away from the painting so we do not destroy it with our happiness…"

"I agree," Lawson fetched his hat," you're bloody dangerous, when you're happy." And then they went out in the kitchen, still laughing, to reheat food and eat a long and well-deserved dinner. Just the two of them.


End file.
